Because of a Sketchbook
by pingo1387
Summary: Modern-day AU (high school). Sanji becomes curious about that long-nosed kid who's always looking at him. SanUso, one-shot.


As the crowded stands stood and cheered with yet another touchdown by their team, Sanji elbowed his way through, clutching two bags of popcorn and two sodas.

"Hey," he said, sitting next to Zoro. "You go next time. I hate those long lines."

Zoro took his food and drink. "Sure, whatever."

The two friends were at one of the last games of the high school football season. Their team, for once, was winning.

"By the way . . ." Zoro said after a huge burp from his soda. "Pinocchio over there's been looking this way."

Sanji glanced around and spotted the kid in the stands. He was mostly by himself, and true to his nickname, his nose was unusually long. His poofy black hair was tied back in a bandana, and when he noticed Sanji looking, he quickly stared down at the sketchbook in his hands.

"So?" Sanji said. "Maybe he's jealous of us seniors. That kid's a sophomore, isn't he?"

"Jealous of _you_ , if anything," Zoro said. "He stopped looking when you left and only just started again. He's been doing it at every game this year."

"Why haven't you brought it up before?" Sanji snapped.

Zoro shrugged unconcernedly. "Wasn't important. He isn't hurting anything. Besides, every time I catch him doing it, he looks away."

Sanji glanced back at the long-nosed kid, who, sure enough, looked back down at his book.

"Alright, I'm gonna go talk to him," he said, standing. "Don't touch my stuff."

"Prissy," Zoro muttered, immediately grabbing a handful of Sanji's popcorn the second his back was turned.

Sanji made his way towards the guy, who continued staring intently at his sketchbook, focused on whatever he was drawing.

"Hey."

The long-nosed guy jumped and quickly slammed the sketchbook shut. He looked up and his eyes widened when he saw Sanji standing over him.

"Hi, Sanji," he squeaked nervously.

God, this kid was cute . . .

Now where did that come from?

"Hey, Pinocchio," Sanji said, sitting next to him abruptly. The kid scooched a few inches away.

"Why—um—why are you—"

"Why am I here?" Sanji completed. "My mossy friend and I couldn't help but notice you keep looking over our way. By the way, how do you know my name?"

"Oh!" the kid exclaimed. "I, well, um. Well. I . . . you know, just . . ." he gulped. "I heard that green-hair guy calling you that."

Sanji narrowed his eyes. "That's a lie. He never calls me by name."

The kid blinked. "Wh . . . What? Why?"

Sanji shrugged. "We hardly ever use our real names. Look, I guess I don't really care how you learned my name. What I _do_ care about is why you keep looking our way."

The kid gulped. "I . . . I'm not really looking _your_ way, per se. That is to say, I _am_ , but not at _you_ —just some . . . trees I was sketching that were in that direction."

"Are you hiding something, or are you just a compulsive liar?"

The kid stood up and ran away down the bleachers and out of the area. Sanji stared after him for a bit in surprise before heading back to Zoro.

"Scared him off, blondie?" Zoro asked.

Sanji shrugged. "I guess I did. He wouldn't say the real reason he was looking over here." Then he looked in his popcorn bag and glowered. "Hey, grass-head, I told you to leave my food alone!"

* * *

The next day in math class, Sanji was sent on an errand to deliver a note to the art teacher. He grumbled under his breath the whole way.

"Mr. M?" he called as he walked into the art room. It seemed the students were on drawing time. "Gotta note for you from Mr. L . . ."

"Thanks," Mr. M said, as cheerful as ever in his neon orange shirt. Sanji scowled at it, never understanding how that man managed wear such bright colors every day. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of the long-nose kid in the back of the class, sketching away. The kid glanced up at him and quickly looked away when he realized Sanji was looking back.

Sanji frowned and went on his way.

* * *

"I'm gonna invite him over," Sanji said, fed up with the kid's constant stare-then-pretend-not-to-stare skit.

"Do what you want," Zoro muttered.

"Don't touch my food," Sanji muttered, heading to where the long-nose guy was sitting by himself with his sketchbook. Zoro took a gulp of Sanji's milk as he left.

Sanji sat next to the long-nose. "Hey."

"Hi," the kid whispered.

"Wanna come sit by me and moss-head?" Sanji asked, gesturing to their table. "Can't imagine you're sitting by yourself because you want to."

The kid slowly shook his head in agreement.

"Come on, then. What's your name, by the way?"

"Usopp . . ."

Sanji grinned. "There, now I don't have to call you Pinocchio anymore. Let's go, Usopp."

Usopp licked his lips nervously and slowly followed Sanji back to the table, clutching his sketchbook and the remainder of his lunch on the tray.

"Hey, lawn-hair, I told you to keep your mitts off my food!" Sanji snapped, swatting Zoro's hand away as he stole some fries.

"You weren't here," Zoro said, swallowing. He glanced at Usopp as he sat down. "Hey, Pinocchio."

Sanji cleared his throat. "This is Usopp. Usopp, moss-head."

"Zoro," Zoro snapped. "And this is Mr. Prince."

"Sanji," Sanji snapped.

Usopp nodded. "Nice to meet you," he whispered.

"So you're an artist," Sanji said, eyeing the sketchbook interestedly.

Usopp twitched. "Uh—yeah, I guess so. I mean, I like drawing, but I'm not real good at it . . ."

"Artist's curse," Zoro grunted. "Right? Writers and artists and all those guys always feel like they're never good enough no matter what anyone else says."

Usopp nodded. "But . . . I'm really _not_ good enough."

"Well, let me take a look," Sanji offered, pointing to the sketchbook. "Maybe I could give a critique?"

Usopp's eyes widened and he seized his sketchbook close to his chest, even though all Sanji had done was point at it.

"No!" he exclaimed loudly. "No! Don't look! Please!"

Sanji withdrew his hand in surprise. "Whoa, whoa, calm down. I was only offering."

Usopp's face was slightly flushed. "Right . . . yeah. Sorry. I'm kinda paranoid about people going through my things."

Zoro eyed Usopp's fries. "You gonna finish those, or . . . ?"

Usopp shoved them towards Zoro.

* * *

Usopp had eaten lunch with Zoro and Sanji, albeit nervously, every day since then. He always squeaked and stammered when speaking to Sanji, though he was calm when talking to Zoro.

"How should I know?" Zoro muttered in response to Sanji asking him about this one day. "I'm not a mind-reader. Ask him yourself."

"Nah, that'd be really awkward," Sanji said. "Maybe he's just still nervous after how we met in the bleachers. I'll give him time."

* * *

And so time was given, and though Usopp grew no less nervous when speaking directly to Sanji, Sanji found himself growing fonder and fonder of him. He was a cute thing, and really fun to be around . . .

"I'll be right back," Usopp said one day, and he left the art room where he and Sanji had been hanging out after school—that is, Sanji had joined Usopp in his daily "Stay-after-School-and-Draw" routine.

Sanji eyed the black sketchbook Usopp had left carelessly on the table.

 _Surely he wouldn't mind a quick peek . . ._

Looking around shiftily, he slid the book over to him and turned it rightside-up. The cover was plain black with silver letters spelling out SKETCH on the front.

Flipping it open, he found that the first few pages were filled with drawings of trees and birds. He examined the drawings with amazement. What had Usopp been talking about? These were wonderful . . . the pencil strokes captured every detail of the subjects' feathers or bark.

The pages after that began to detail portraits. There were just heads attached to necks and floating shoulders at first—Sanji thought he recognized some classmates, each person drawn only once—but then the drawings became full-body. The first ones were a bit messy: Too short, too tall, too thin, joints in odd places . . . but they improved as the pages went on, Sanji observed, going to drawings worthy of commission work. There was only one scribbled-out drawing, and judging by the nose-tip poking out from under the dark, angry scratches, it was a failed self-portrait.

When he turned the next page, his eyes widened.

It was him.

But he wasn't drawn just once. No, there he was smiling, laughing, listening to someone, bored, sleeping, angry . . .

Sanji turned the pages as his floating heads grew into full-body sketches. He almost dropped the sketchbook. He was certain that Usopp had never seen him shirtless, but there he was, wearing nothing but jeans or shorts or even just boxers. His abdomen in the drawings was perhaps a little more defined than it was in actuality, but it was pretty damn close.

"HEY!"

Sanji looked up and closed the book guiltily when he saw Usopp standing at the door.

"What are you—I mean, you—" Usopp blustered, his face flushed as he grabbed the sketchbook and tucked it away in his backpack safely.

"I'm sorry," Sanji said quickly. "I was curious."

Usopp turned away.

"Are you . . . crying?" Sanji said incredulously.

"No," Usopp mumbled.

"You're still a bad liar. What's wrong?"

"You saw those stupid drawings," Usopp mumbled. "The . . . the ones of y-you."

Sanji hesitated. "Yeah," he said at last. "I did."

Usopp turned halfway back and covered his face with his hands. "No one was supp-p-posed to see . . ."

"Why were you drawing me?"

Usopp didn't answer. Sanji sighed.

"Usopp. I don't care that you drew me. I just want to know why, and why so _many_ . . ."

"Because—because you're—you're, like, the handsomest guy I've ever seen," Usopp blurted out.

Sanji raised his eyebrows, feeling slightly embarrassed now.

"A-And," Usopp plowed on, the dams opened, the words coming uncontrollably, "and I kind of had a crush on you, so I drew you a lot, and then I got to know you, and now I have a _real_ crush on you, and I can't really help it, but it's stupid because I'm nobody, I'm ugly, I'm a terrible artist, and besides, I've seen you flirting with girls so many times, so there's no point to all this—oh, god, I said too much, I said too much!"

"USOPP!"

Usopp stopped talking at last and looked at Sanji, still trying to hold back his tears and failing miserably.

"I'm impressed," Sanji said. "You actually told three lies _well_. But they're lies nonetheless, and I caught them.

"One: You're not a terrible artist," Sanji said, standing. "Those are some of the best drawings I've ever seen. And you're like, 15, so that's all the more impressive.

"Two: You're not nobody, you're _Usopp_ ," Sanji said, taking a few steps towards Usopp. "That alone makes you special.

"And three: You're not ugly, you're cute," Sanji said, touching the tip of Usopp's nose. "Your hair is amazing, your eyes are beautiful, and your skin and your lips look so soft every day."

Usopp gulped and took a step back.

Sanji grinned. "And you know what? I think I might have a crush on you, too."

Usopp stared at him. "But . . ." he said. "You . . . flirt with girls . . ."

"I'm bi," Sanji said. "Sure, I prefer ladies, but once in a blue moon, the perfect guy comes along. And guess what? It's a blue moon, and that perfect guy is you."

Usopp stared at him in utter astonishment. Sanji smiled, and then Usopp's eyes rolled up into his head and he sagged to his knees.

"Hey, Usopp?" Sanji said in alarm, kneeling. "You need the nurse?"

Usopp blinked a few times and looked up. "No . . . just got dizzy for a second . . . maybe my emotions ran away with me . . ." he frowned. "Did I phrase that right . . . ?"

Sanji chuckled and helped him up. "Don't worry about it. So . . ."

Usopp looked up at him, quickly wiping away the last of his tears. "I . . . uh . . ."

Sanji grinned. "You do the honors."

Usopp closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and yelled, "Sanji, will you go out with me?!"

Sanji grinned and pulled Usopp into a hug. "Of course."

Usopp nervously hugged back, grinning in a sort of dazed happiness.

"And I'd be happy to model for sketching practice," Sanji added. "You just have to ask."


End file.
